Chapter Text
Even before Sirius opens the door, Regulus knows that James Potter will be standing behind it.
It happens every Friday, a routine they've mastered over the years. At 5pm, a succession of three, firm knocks will sound throughout the Black’s hallway, and the blurred figure behind the textured glass will run a hand through his permanently unkempt curls. Sirius will open the door to reveal a crooked grin and pull him into a one-armed hug before ushering him through the doorway, conversation already escaping the two boys’ lips as if they hadn’t seen each other only two hours prior in college. Regulus, however, is lucky if he gets even a nod of acknowledgment.
One solitary memory of a polite ‘ hello ’ sticks out to him, followed by Sirius’ poorly masked look of contempt as he dragged James into the living room, not even sparing a glance back towards his brother. The hushed exchange that followed told Regulus not to expect a similar greeting in future. Whatever had been said that evening, whatever configuration of words Sirius had presented James with, had clearly not been flattering on Regulus’ part.
It doesn’t bother him, though, not any more. What once generated a prickle of resentment at being blatantly ignored has shrunk to mild indifference, something he no longer thinks about with indignation. It’s merely a fact of life.
Of course, if he desired, he could stand around and test his proven hypothesis once more. Instead, he blows on his freshly brewed tea before padding back upstairs, not even bothering to wait for Sirius to open the door. Some may call it rude, but Regulus calls it common sense; why hang around for a greeting that won’t ever come? It's not as if he can extend his manners to someone who hardly makes note of his presence.
As expected, James' voice floods through the house as Regulus rounds the corner to his bedroom, his enthusiastic tone only slightly muffled by the closing of Regulus' thick, wooden door. The pair are already laughing, likely over something incredibly trivial, if Regulus knows his brother, and he sighs as he sinks onto his bed.
He resists the urge to roll his eyes as the petty irritation builds in him, though at what, he doesn't really know. Blaming envy would be an easy way out, something distinct Regulus could pin his feelings on, but he knows that it wouldn't be correct. After all, he has nothing to be envious of.
He has his own friends – in actual fact, one very close friend – and a good relationship with Sirius isn't exactly very high up on his list of hopes and desires. He can't deny that it would be nice to be at least civil with James, if anything just to make the Friday evenings less awkward, but he isn't going to lose any sleep over it.
Scanning his cluttered bed-side table, Regulus moves a weather-damaged copy of Camus’ The Plague aside to make room for his mug, hissing as the hot porcelain briefly makes contact with his skin. The last scraps of sun filter through his window blinds, casting bars of light and shadow across his body like a phosphorescent prison cell. As he lifts his hand, he watches the rays obscure, bending and awning with every movement of his fingers.
Studying should arguably be his main priority at the moment, considering exams are quickly approaching. The anxiety is dull, more annoying than anything, and it isn’t enough to motivate him. He’ll likely pass, anyhow. Sirius always used to say his most annoying quality was his ability to get good grades without even trying. If he were to ask this question today, Regulus knows he’d get a drastically different answer.
The only noise is that of James and Sirius bickering over something Regulus knows will be resolved in minutes, their voices carrying throughout the empty hallways of the Black house. Walburga and Orion seem to be at work more than at home these days, not that Regulus minds too much. Whoever had said that absence makes the heart grow fonder was partially right - Regulus would never be fond of his parents, but their absence is always a blessing. One of the only things that he and Sirius can bond over, Regulus thinks, is their poor relationship with their parents.
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Regulus takes a sip of his tea with a deep sigh, eyes fluttering closed as he relishes the warmth it provides. Then, loneliness hits. It feels heavy, and he rolls the feeling around his mind like a boiled sweet. The aftertaste is bitter, lined with guilt.
He has a great friend in Pandora, but sometimes, he feels it isn’t enough. Walking through the corridors in college, Regulus is confronted daily by the cacophony of loud laughter and shrieking conversations as large groups huddle around their lockers. Though there’s so many of them, Regulus knows that each individual feels secure in their group, knowing they’re worthy of their place there.
Sirius is one of those people. No matter how hard he tries, Regulus is unable to take his eyes away from him, always centred in his group of four. It doesn’t help that they look eerily similar, despite Regulus’ hair being a little shorter and more styled. The image is close enough that if Regulus squints, he can imagine that it’s him standing there, friends flanking either side of him as they share inside jokes and throw teasing jibes at one another.
University will be better, he tells himself. When he can get away from his parents, from Sirius, from everything holding him back. He can carve himself a new identity, mould an agreeable being from the current scraps of clay he’s made up of. Everything will be okay. He just needs to hold on for another two years.
Before he can react, his door is pushed open and a sharp cough cuts his daydream short. Regulus quirks a brow at the two figures standing just outside of his bedroom. Whilst James shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, Sirius leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest as though he’s the one being inconvenienced.
”Yes?” He asks. His voice is cold and succinct.
“You know that Pandora, right?”
Regulus holds back a sneer, resisting the urge to point out that yes, Sirius, I do, seeing as she's my best friend and all, and settles for a nod of his head.
"Huh," Sirius responds, rolling the answer around for a moment before continuing. "Thought so."
“Why?” Regulus asks. Though he has no real interest in prolonging this conversation, the fact that it concerns Pandora means it’s now somewhat important to him; Sirius is not one for random small talk, not with Regulus, so something must have provoked his questioning.
Sirius, of course, does not offer him the luxury of such satisfaction. Instead, he scoffs out a short laugh, shaking his head with an aloof air that requires Regulus to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent snapping at him.
“Just curious. For me to know, and you to find out, and all that.”
With that, Sirius turns on his heel and stalks off, leaving James standing at the door for a brief moment before his mind catches up with him. He follows Sirius soon after.
Twat, Regulus thinks.
Wanting to feel busy, he picks up his copy of The Plague , fingers finding the dog-eared corner of his current position with ease. He wonders if he should feel some shame at spending his Friday night with a book and cup of tea for company, but quickly brushes it off. There are far worse things he could be getting up to.
Immersed in a world of black ink on white pages, Regulus hardly notices the hours slipping away from him. It’s only when he’s met with a mouthful of ice cold tea that he registers just how long he’s been sitting there, mind lost in 1940s France. Fumbling for his phone, the far too bright screen notifies him that it’s just past one in the morning. Annoyingly, he still feels wide awake.
He groans as he stretches, his shoulders letting out a sickening pop as he exercises the stiff muscles previously unused, and rolls to the edge of the bed. In one hand, he grabs the mug, careful not to spill any remaining dregs of tea onto his floor. If he can’t sleep, he may as well wash up his dishes.
Regulus is mindful enough that Sirius and James are sleeping, so it takes him twice the amount of time it usually would to finally reach the kitchen, largely thanks to the ever-creaking third stair from the top. Regulus can’t count the amount of times he’s been woken up by it, usually by Sirius being too tired or drunk to care about bypassing it.
Still half asleep himself, Regulus is almost on autopilot as he rinses his mug, clearing away the light stains of tea so desperately clinging to the interior of the porcelain.
“Oh.”
His spoon clatters into the sink as Regulus turns towards the voice. Standing there half dressed is James, looking like a deer in headlights. Despite his half asleep state, his eyes are blown almost comically wide. His surprise renders him momentarily frozen before he snaps out of it, dragging a palm down his face with a stifled yawn.
“Sorry,” he says, moving further into the room. He grabs a glass from one of the many cupboards before shuffling over to the sink. “I didn’t know you’d be in here.”
“What, in my own kitchen?” Regulus’ tone is snarky, but he moves aside to grant James access to the tap anyways.
He stares pointedly at the floor for a moment, before allowing himself to glance over James’ side profile. He’s never really looked at James before, preferring to avert his gaze whenever he’s around, or avoid him altogether if he can. Regulus knows what he looks like, obviously, yet James has primarily been an indistinct blur of laughter and energy rather than a person. In fact, a large portion of his idea of James comes merely from what others say about him, both complementary and defamatory.
As expected his hair is untamed, thick black curls splayed across his forehead and sticking up in every direction like they’re trying to escape his scalp. Across his cheek is a faint indent painted red, a marker of where he had clearly fallen asleep with his glasses still on, the arms pressed into his face. Regulus holds back a smile at how human it makes him look.
The sound of flowing water breaks the otherwise uncomfortable silence, as neither move to speak for a moment. Regulus swears that he can see James swallow, see the cogs turning in his mind as he debates whether or not to grant Regulus a response.
“Not really. Not at one in the morning,” James concludes, bringing the now full glass to his lips as he takes a long succession of gulps.
A small amount escapes the corner of his mouth, dribbles down his chin and begins to trail down to his neck before James harshly scrubs it off, brushing off Regulus’ pointed gaze along with it.
“Yet you’re here, too.”
“I am.”
James holds up his half empty glass in a silent explanation for his presence, and despite himself, Regulus refrains from commenting that he is intelligent enough to put two and two together.
There’s another lull of silence as the pair come to the same conclusion: this is the most they’ve spoken to one another in the entire four years that they’ve been acquainted. Just as Regulus moves to leave, not anticipating any further conversation, James speaks again.
“I don’t-” he pauses, taking a breath as his eyes flit around the room, hoping to find the words he wants to say engraved into the walls. “I don’t hate you, you know.”
“I know,” Regulus says, though really he doesn’t. Hate may be a bit of a hyperbole, but still, he isn’t exactly convinced that James is his biggest fan.
A frustrated huff escapes James and he shakes his head, evidently not pleased with Regulus’ ambivalent response.
“No, no, you don’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to really focus on how he wants the conversation to progress, and Regulus watches with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve been a bit of a prick to you. Not saying hello to you or anything , even though you’re Sirius’ brother.”
If his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, Regulus swears that James’ hands are beginning to shake as his speech grows more frantic, desperately trying to grasp the right words.
“He just- he’s protective over you.”
“Protective?” Regulus mocks, voice laced with acidity. “That’s what he’s calling it now, is it?”
Hurt flashes across James’ face, and Regulus almost feels bad. It isn’t his fault - he’s only drawing on what he knows from Sirius - but the audacity of such a claim causes heat to prickle at the back of his neck and he isn’t strong enough to stop speaking there. If he were in a Greek tragedy, his hamartia would be his inability to control his anger.
“So, his idea of ‘protecting’ me is shutting me out and painting me as some sort of villain whilst he plays the saint,” Regulus forces a fake laugh. “God, I wish I’d known sooner. Suppose I’ll have to go thank him now, for being such a fucking good brother to me.”
James is quiet, focusing on the small beads of condensation beginning to form at the base of his glass. Regret begins to creep into Regulus’ bloodstream, though not at his words. Every last thing he said, he would say again and say it proudly. No, his shame lay in the fact that he directed this frustration at James, someone who was actually trying to treat him like someone worth speaking to.
Anger is simply Regulus’ emotional torment finally surfacing, masquerading itself as something tolerable, something that he can direct anywhere but at himself for once. As far as coping mechanisms go, it isn’t the healthiest, but Regulus knows no other comfort.
Hanging in the air is an unspoken apology. James steps forward to place his glass on the counter, the gentle clink sounding from just behind Regulus. Only a foot or two separates them, and Regulus has to manually steady his breathing as his nerves skyrocket.
Expensive cologne and the warm smell of sleep floods Regulus’ system, and it takes him a moment to register that James is kissing him.
What the fuck .
Against his better instincts, Regulus pulls away. His eyes are wide with a combination of anxiety and desire, thin slivers of grey bordering his blown out pupils as he remembers one, crucial thing: Sirius. James can read his expression perfectly, it appears, as Regulus doesn’t even need to speak before he begins reassuring him.
“He’s asleep,” James breathes, forehead pressed against Regulus’ so firmly it’s like he’s trying to combine their bodies into one being.
Those two words are all Regulus needs to push his lips against James’ once more, tilting his head up in order to capture James’ bottom lip between his teeth ever so slightly. The sound that escapes James goes straight to Regulus’ head, and when he utters his name like a prayer, Regulus can feel his tone bury itself in his chest, laying down roots deep in the foundation of his heart as he clings to every whispered syllable. Suddenly, his name has a new meaning, one far beyond his comprehension, watered down to the desire for James to say it again.
A fleeting pain in his side makes Regulus register that he’s been pushed up against the counter, the black marble pressing into his hips as the hem of his shirt rides up a little. James’ hands are quick to follow, disappearing under the fabric as he traces shapes languidly against the skin of Regulus’ waist.
Hazel eyes meet his own, a flame of gratification burning behind them as James’ gaze scans his face, mapping out the exact angles of his cheekbones and the arch of his eyebrows. Regulus’ teasing remark dies on his tongue as James places an open mouthed kiss to the column of his neck, teeth grazing the skin so lightly Regulus half believes he’s imagining it.
A hoarse moan claws its way from Regulus’ throat, the noise foreign to his ears, and the tips of his ears burn bright as he clamps a hand over his mouth. Beneath his embarrassment, a small part of him wants to hear it again, have James drag another groan out of him, make him produce sounds he had no idea he could create. To his dismay, James’ lips immediately detach from his jaw, and Regulus debates swallowing his pride and begging him to resume his previous actions.
“I should go,” James pants, stepping back to place some distance between them. He uses his hand to point upwards, though his eyes never leave Regulus’ face. “In case he wakes up and wonders where I’ve gone.”
Suppressing his disappointment, Regulus offers James a nod, a silent acknowledgment of his point. The last thing either of them need is Sirius stumbling into the kitchen to see his younger brother pressed against his friend’s bare chest, lips locked in an incredible display of desperation.
“Goodnight, then.” Regulus’ voice comes out softer than he expects.
“Night.”
Before he leaves, James looks over his shoulder at Regulus once more, Orpheus unable to refuse one last look at Eurydice. Regulus offers a half smile. James returns it, and then he’s gone.
Not wanting to follow immediately after, Regulus potters around the kitchen, putting away the remaining dishes that litter the countertop. Light catches the crystal glass James held just minutes ago, and Regulus holds it for a few moments before carefully returning it to the cupboard. Satisfied enough time has passed, he makes his way back to his room. The smile hasn’t yet left his lips.
Regulus wakes up alone.
The events of last night are still heavy on his mind, small flashes intercepting his internal monologue periodically. He’s considering what he should have for breakfast when the ghost of James’ fingertips trace his jaw, cutting through his train of thought like a blade. Looking down at his attire, Regulus considers getting changed. The moment that his nimble fingers make contact with the bottom of his shirt, Regulus remembers the confident way James’ hands slipped beneath the fabric, the flimsy piece of material powerless to the desires of James Potter. Regulus keeps it on and fixes his hair just enough that it would be plausible for him to wake up like that.
Coffee is all that Regulus can think of as he enters the kitchen, wasting no time in heading over to their coffee machine and relishing in the earthy, grounding aroma it produces as it brews. After a moment of consideration, Regulus grabs three mugs.
Two sets of footsteps come thudding down the stairs, and Regulus feels himself straighten slightly as the conversation grows closer. He cringes as he stops himself from pushing back his hair, letting out a short breath and focusing his attention on making the coffee. Regulus hears Sirius let out a cackle at something James has said, and he looks over his shoulder to see his brother swinging open the front door, sunlight pouring into the hallway.
Their raucous laughter is cut short as Sirius slams the door shut, James’ voice fading as they walk up the drive, not even sparing a glance towards the kitchen. Regulus is alone once again. The silence is thick around him, coating his body in its balmy residue. Two mugs sit abandoned on the counter. As he absentmindedly stirs his coffee, he leans against the marble countertop that he was pressed into only six hours prior as James’ lips danced across his skin. Now, in the daylight, he isn’t worthy of a ‘ goodbye ’, or even an apathetic wave.
No words need to be exchanged; Regulus already knows. It was a mistake.